Heroes: "The Cure For What Ails You" (Paire, G)
Title: The Cure For What Ails You
Author: airspaniel
Rating: G
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Word Count: 785
Spoilers: none
Notes: Written as a surprise get well fic for drunken_hedghog, because she's all sick and stuff. Feel better, dear! Have some fluffy Paire love. ^_^
Summary: Being sick sucks. Good thing there's a nurse around. ^_^
Claire rolled over, pulling her pillow over her head to block out the light. The movement dislodged a small avalanche of used Kleenex, which fell to the floor to join the mountain of them by her bedside.
She was sick. And it was not fun.
There was a soft knock at the door, and she held her pillow tighter. “Go ‘way!” she yelled, trying to suppress the junk in her nose. “I’b sick!”
The door cracked open, and Peter stuck his head in the room. “Claire? Are you okay?”
She exploded, throwing her pillow at him. “No, I’b nod okay! I’b sick! I hab a code, an’ I said go ‘way!” She fell back on the bed, sniffling. “I don’ wan’ you to see me like dis.”
Peter laughed, he couldn’t help it, even though it only made her madder. She was just so cute, all flustered and red-faced; her messy hair tangled up in a hot pink scrunchie.
He held his hands up, disarmingly. “Hey, I just want to help. Nurse, remember?”
She sighed petulantly, and it would have had more effect if she hadn’t broken into a coughing fit immediately afterwards. He walked over to her and eased the pillow back under her neck and shoulders. She pouted but sat up a little, letting him adjust her body to a different posture.
“There,” he sat down next to her, carefully avoiding the tissue pile. “You should really stay sitting up a little more. It’ll help you breathe.”
“Thanks,” Claire mumbled. Peter took her hand, and she tried to remember how to breathe so she wouldn’t start coughing again. Hopefully he would think she was just red from the cold, and not because she was blushing furiously.
“Have you been keeping hydrated? Drinking lots of fluids?”
She didn’t think she could get any redder, but somehow between the hand-holding and the fluids… She nodded weakly into her chest, not trusting herself to talk at the moment.
“Okay, good.” Peter was in professional bedside manner mode now. “Did you take any medicine for it?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah, your mob gabe me somethin’ a liddle while ago.” She squeezed his hand. “I’b fide, Peder. I just need to sleeb id off.”
He looked at her for a moment, bright eyes a little dull with illness, but still enchantingly beautiful. What could he possibly do to make her feel better?
“I got it!” He winked at her reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”
And then he vanished.
The hand he had been holding still tingled a little bit. She curled it to her chest, resting her face against it. With her other hand, she grabbed a Kleenex and blew her nose, noisily. Being sick sucked.
Barely a minute later, Peter appeared again, holding a large wooden tray. He put the tray down across her lap, and Claire laughed. There was a bottle of Nyquil, a tall cold glass of Sprite, and a bowl of chicken soup that smelled so good she could almost smell it.
There was also a single, perfect red rose.
“Id’s woderful, Peder! Thank you!” She beamed, that smile sunny and radiant in spite of everything.
Peter’s heart flipped, and he smiled back. “You’re very welcome. Nothing knocks out a cold faster than that stuff. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
She reached her hand out and he took it. “You’re da best, Peder.” She giggled, pulling him close enough to hug. “By hero.”
“I just want you to feel better, okay?” He kissed the top of her head before leaving her to her soup.
-----
One week later, Peter wallowed on the couch, the palm of his hand pressing hard against the crushing pressure in his sinuses. He reached blindly behind him for the tissues, and groaned when his hand hit the bottom of the empty box. His arm flopped over his eyes. Being sick definitely sucked.
The door breezed open, and in walked Claire, looking sun-kissed and perfectly healthy. Her yellow sundress swirled around her shapely legs as she sauntered to the couch, the tray in her arms bobbing lightly with the movement.
“Not feeling so good?” she asked rhetorically. He just grumbled in response, dragging a cushion down over his head.
Claire smiled, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “I know just the cure for that. Got it from a really smart guy I know.”
He lifted the corner of the pillow, looking blearily up at her. She bent down, bringing their faces level, and he managed a weak smile. Claire took the pillow from him, laughing softly as he squinted against the light.
“You know, you really should sit up more. It’ll help you breathe.”
Author: airspaniel
Rating: G
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Word Count: 785
Spoilers: none
Notes: Written as a surprise get well fic for drunken_hedghog, because she's all sick and stuff. Feel better, dear! Have some fluffy Paire love. ^_^
Summary: Being sick sucks. Good thing there's a nurse around. ^_^
Claire rolled over, pulling her pillow over her head to block out the light. The movement dislodged a small avalanche of used Kleenex, which fell to the floor to join the mountain of them by her bedside.
She was sick. And it was not fun.
There was a soft knock at the door, and she held her pillow tighter. “Go ‘way!” she yelled, trying to suppress the junk in her nose. “I’b sick!”
The door cracked open, and Peter stuck his head in the room. “Claire? Are you okay?”
She exploded, throwing her pillow at him. “No, I’b nod okay! I’b sick! I hab a code, an’ I said go ‘way!” She fell back on the bed, sniffling. “I don’ wan’ you to see me like dis.”
Peter laughed, he couldn’t help it, even though it only made her madder. She was just so cute, all flustered and red-faced; her messy hair tangled up in a hot pink scrunchie.
He held his hands up, disarmingly. “Hey, I just want to help. Nurse, remember?”
She sighed petulantly, and it would have had more effect if she hadn’t broken into a coughing fit immediately afterwards. He walked over to her and eased the pillow back under her neck and shoulders. She pouted but sat up a little, letting him adjust her body to a different posture.
“There,” he sat down next to her, carefully avoiding the tissue pile. “You should really stay sitting up a little more. It’ll help you breathe.”
“Thanks,” Claire mumbled. Peter took her hand, and she tried to remember how to breathe so she wouldn’t start coughing again. Hopefully he would think she was just red from the cold, and not because she was blushing furiously.
“Have you been keeping hydrated? Drinking lots of fluids?”
She didn’t think she could get any redder, but somehow between the hand-holding and the fluids… She nodded weakly into her chest, not trusting herself to talk at the moment.
“Okay, good.” Peter was in professional bedside manner mode now. “Did you take any medicine for it?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah, your mob gabe me somethin’ a liddle while ago.” She squeezed his hand. “I’b fide, Peder. I just need to sleeb id off.”
He looked at her for a moment, bright eyes a little dull with illness, but still enchantingly beautiful. What could he possibly do to make her feel better?
“I got it!” He winked at her reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”
And then he vanished.
The hand he had been holding still tingled a little bit. She curled it to her chest, resting her face against it. With her other hand, she grabbed a Kleenex and blew her nose, noisily. Being sick sucked.
Barely a minute later, Peter appeared again, holding a large wooden tray. He put the tray down across her lap, and Claire laughed. There was a bottle of Nyquil, a tall cold glass of Sprite, and a bowl of chicken soup that smelled so good she could almost smell it.
There was also a single, perfect red rose.
“Id’s woderful, Peder! Thank you!” She beamed, that smile sunny and radiant in spite of everything.
Peter’s heart flipped, and he smiled back. “You’re very welcome. Nothing knocks out a cold faster than that stuff. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
She reached her hand out and he took it. “You’re da best, Peder.” She giggled, pulling him close enough to hug. “By hero.”
“I just want you to feel better, okay?” He kissed the top of her head before leaving her to her soup.
-----
One week later, Peter wallowed on the couch, the palm of his hand pressing hard against the crushing pressure in his sinuses. He reached blindly behind him for the tissues, and groaned when his hand hit the bottom of the empty box. His arm flopped over his eyes. Being sick definitely sucked.
The door breezed open, and in walked Claire, looking sun-kissed and perfectly healthy. Her yellow sundress swirled around her shapely legs as she sauntered to the couch, the tray in her arms bobbing lightly with the movement.
“Not feeling so good?” she asked rhetorically. He just grumbled in response, dragging a cushion down over his head.
Claire smiled, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “I know just the cure for that. Got it from a really smart guy I know.”
He lifted the corner of the pillow, looking blearily up at her. She bent down, bringing their faces level, and he managed a weak smile. Claire took the pillow from him, laughing softly as he squinted against the light.
“You know, you really should sit up more. It’ll help you breathe.”